


Distraction

by crackinthecup



Series: Ends and Beginnings [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Breathplay, M/M, Masturbation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Mairon can’t stop thinking about his work and turns to Melkor for a distraction.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Ends and Beginnings [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112774
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elevenelvenswords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenelvenswords/gifts).



It was quiet here, in the corridor leading to Melkor’s quarters. So quiet that if he strained his ears, Mairon could just about make out the tumult of the numerous inhabitants of Utumno going about their lives. He stood outside Melkor’s door for long minutes, listening to the distant sounds, but they were not enough to drown out the mad thumping of his heart.

He sighed and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Melkor called from within.

Mairon let himself into the room. Melkor was sitting in an armchair by the fire, looking as lordly and imperious as ever, and for a split second Mairon considered going back the way he had come. His master surely had better things to do than to humour his moods.

But then Melkor relaxed a little when he saw it was Mairon who had come in. He picked up his goblet of wine from the little table at his side, reclining more comfortably into his armchair and turning to Mairon with a genuine smile.

“To what do I owe this visit?”

“I…” Mairon cast about for something coherent to say, but he came away empty-handed. He let the sentence trail off into silence. _Damn_ , he was supposed to be a better liar than this.

Melkor was watching him curiously over the rim of his goblet. Mairon knew that Melkor must have noticed the dark shadows underneath his eyes, starkly obvious against the pallor of his skin. Feeling strangely self-conscious, he smoothed his hair back behind his ear, though there was no need to.

He gestured awkwardly to the spare armchair beside Melkor’s own. “May I?”

Melkor gestured his assent. Mairon sat down, accepting the goblet of wine that Melkor poured for him. He could still feel Melkor’s gaze lingering on him and he busied himself with gulping down a generous amount of wine, resolutely avoiding eye contact.

“What is the matter?” Melkor asked him when the silence had stretched on too long.

Mairon drank some more of the wine, nearly draining his goblet. “Hmm?”

“Come now, Mairon,” Melkor said, though not harshly. “Unless you’ve come here with the specific purpose of drinking your way through all my wine, it is plain that something is bothering you. What is it?”

Mairon ran his thumb over one of the delicate grooves adorning the surface of his goblet. Regretfully and with some effort of will, he put it away.

He considered telling Melkor the truth. _I made a mistake and I can’t stop thinking about it._ He then immediately considered scarpering off. Making up some sort of excuse and hurrying back to his quarters before Melkor asked any more questions. Being alone with his thoughts couldn’t possibly be unendurable, could it? He felt incredibly foolish.

But he didn’t leave. Maybe because he could _feel_ the anxiety bubbling within him, could feel it as something bright and caustic in his every muscle, making his heart pound and his chest feel like it would implode. Or maybe because there had been genuine concern in Melkor’s voice. Maybe both, or maybe neither. He didn’t know; he didn’t want to think about this, or about anything at all. That wasn’t why he had come here.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Mairon lied, though with less conviction than he had intended. Before Melkor could press the matter further, Mairon stood up and sidled up to his master until he was standing right behind his armchair. Then in one fluid motion he slipped his arms around Melkor’s neck, leaning into him with stark boldness.

“ _My lord_ …” Mairon murmured in a voice calculated to arouse, and it did just that, drawing a low sound from Melkor’s throat.

“You could have just said if this is what you wanted. There is no shame in pleasure, Mairon.”

Mairon didn’t respond. Instead he nudged Melkor’s head aside with his own, pressing his lips to the side of his neck in sultry, open-mouthed kisses. Melkor sighed, lazily reaching up to run his fingers through Mairon’s hair. His touch was gentle, indulgent; there was no rebuke for Mairon’s brazenness.

Yet the gentleness did nothing to soothe the anxiety in Mairon’s chest.

So he let his kisses turn into bites, and when he pulled away, a bright red mark was clearly visible on Melkor’s skin.

Melkor hissed in displeasure, fingers tightening in Mairon’s hair, yanking him away.

“Bold, aren’t we?” he said sharply, shifting in his armchair so he could glare at Mairon, and though the more rational part of Mairon counselled against this, it faltered beneath the wave of arousal that coursed through him at the danger in Melkor’s voice. _This_ was what he had in mind.

With a rather manic smile, Mairon shook himself free of Melkor’s hold on his hair, brazenly pressing himself forward to kiss Melkor full on the lips. Melkor parted his lips for him, allowing the kiss to become deeper, messier, _hungrier_. Their tongues slipped and slid together so exquisitely that Mairon moaned against Melkor’s mouth. But it still wasn’t enough: he needed Melkor’s temper to boil over into something volcanic and violent, he needed Melkor to hurt him and to _fuck_ him—

He caught Melkor’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard until he could taste blood in his mouth.

Melkor moved with preternatural speed. He grasped Mairon by the throat so savagely that he audibly choked. Their eyes met. Mairon held his master’s gaze as he purposefully leaned forward, pressing himself further into Melkor’s grasp until he could hardly breathe at all.

For long seconds Melkor simply watched him. He remained silent and thoughtful as Mairon struggled through each strained, rasping breath. At length, when Mairon’s chest had started to burn from lack of air, Melkor roused himself from his contemplation. He leaned in and planted a tender kiss on Mairon’s lips, all the while tightening his hold round his neck.

“Is this what you want?” Melkor asked quietly.

In response Mairon fought out of his grasp, planting himself in Melkor’s lap so he was kneeling astride his thighs. He kissed Melkor again, twining his arms around his neck, crushing their bodies together. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth from where he had bitten Melkor’s lip earlier. Melkor indulged him, but his touch on Mairon’s body had changed. No longer gentle, but rough and possessive. Deliberate.

After a few moments Melkor broke away from the kiss, drawing a noise of dissent from Mairon, who attempted to push himself closer. His efforts earned him a slap across the face, a sharp, sudden slap that left him sitting there, taken aback and hurt. Getting hard.

“You should know better than to touch me with such impertinence when I have not allowed it.”

“Sorry, my lord,” Mairon said automatically, not sounding very sorry at all.

Melkor snarled, roughly pushing Mairon away so he could stand up. Before Mairon could even get his bearings, Melkor grabbed him by the upper arm, unceremoniously dragging him into the bedroom.

He unhanded Mairon at the foot of the bed. Mairon could feel his skin throbbing where Melkor’s fingers had gripped into it; he wondered if it would bruise.

“Strip,” Melkor commanded without preamble.

Mairon slowly complied. He was acutely aware that Melkor was watching even the smallest of his movements, and despite himself, he felt a blush creeping over his cheeks. Once Mairon had kicked his discarded clothes aside, Melkor reached for him, planting a palm flat against his chest. His nails dug in, just over Mairon’s heart, hard enough to leave stinging crescents scored into his skin and draw a hiss of discomfort from his lips. And then, before Mairon could regain his composure, Melkor pushed him backwards until he had no choice but to kneel up on the bed if he didn’t want to topple over in a heap.

At first Melkor simply admired him, slowly dragging his eyes down the naked expanse of his skin. Mairon felt his cheeks burning all the more brightly. He knew that he must have made quite a sight: kneeling there on the edge of the bed, cheeks flushed and cock already hard between his legs. Melkor smiled down at him, an utterly obscene smile that had Mairon shifting his hips with the sudden desire pulsing in his belly.

Melkor reached for him again, cupping the side of his face. Mairon’s cheek still hurt from the slap, and Melkor drew his thumb over the angry, reddened skin there almost lovingly. His thumb then slipped lower, dragging over Mairon’s lips, slightly parting them. It slid between Mairon’s teeth, settling firmly against his tongue. Unbidden, Mairon started to move his tongue against the pad of Melkor’s thumb.

Melkor chuckled darkly. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”

In response, Mairon laved his tongue against Melkor’s thumb a little more vigorously, but Melkor carelessly withdrew from him and stalked away.

“It’s a little late for good behaviour, Mairon.”

Mairon twisted around to look at Melkor. “My lord?”

Melkor didn’t answer. Instead he positioned himself on the bed so he was reclining against the headboard, still fully clothed.

“Come here.”

Mairon hesitated. But at the withering look of disapproval Melkor gave him, he grudgingly started to crawl towards his master until he was once again sitting astride him, straddling his hips.

In this position Mairon could feel Melkor’s erection beneath his clothes. But Melkor made no move to disrobe; indeed, Melkor did not touch him at all.

“Now, Mairon,” Melkor began with a smile that showed he was far, _far_ too pleased with himself. “You were being so wanton earlier, so ill-behaved: near throwing yourself into my lap the moment you walked through the door. Well then, if you are so desperate, be my guest.” Melkor emphasised his point by flicking his gaze downwards to Mairon’s erection, where it lingered just long enough to make Mairon squirm.

It was painfully clear what Melkor expected him to do.

“But, my lord…” Mairon began in protest, shifting restively on top of his master. This wasn’t what he wanted. He ground his hips down, impudently pressing himself against Melkor’s cock, hoping against hope that Melkor would quit playing his games.

Melkor struck him across the face again, harder than before. Instinctively he reached up to cradle his throbbing cheek.

“Do as you’re told,” Melkor growled.

Mairon shifted again, recoiling slightly from his master. Melkor grasped his hips with brutal force to keep him still.

With little other recourse, Mairon took himself in hand, and reluctantly started to go through the familiar motions. But he could not deny how good it felt, and soon enough his eyes were fluttering shut as the pleasure built within him. Melkor’s grip on his hips relaxed a little. Mairon stroked himself faster, his breaths turning to moans as he started to truly enjoy himself. He was surprised to find how grounded he felt with Melkor there beneath him. It was easy to push away all those thoughts that had wormed their unsavoury, tenacious way into his mind, to focus only on the wondrous sensations between his legs. It wasn’t long until his hips started to move of their own accord as he shivered his pleasure on top of Melkor.

And then, on a delightful upstroke of his hand that had him tossing his head back, Melkor grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away. A whine tore from his throat before he was even aware of it. He opened his eyes to glare down at Melkor, pleasure curdling to frustration, only to find Melkor smirking up at him. _Of course_. Mairon bit his tongue, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d either curse Melkor or plead with him to let go of his wrist.

So he sat there in silence, acutely, painfully aware of how hard he was, wildly hoping that Melkor would have a change of heart and let him finish. But Melkor completely ignored both him and his erection. He pushed Mairon away and climbed out of bed.

Keeping to his sullen silence, Mairon let Melkor manoeuvre him till he was bent over the bed, feet on the floor and torso pressed into the mattress. He petulantly considered simply rutting against the sheets to get himself off. He would’ve liked to see Melkor try to stop him from doing that too. But he was pulled away from such thoughts by Melkor kicking his legs apart, none too gently. Despite himself, he gasped as he felt Melkor tying a length of rope around his ankle and attaching it to one of the legs of the bed. Melkor tied his other ankle in a similar fashion, leaving his legs spread deliciously wide. His master then moved to the other side of the bed, knotting a piece of rope around his wrists and binding his hands together. His arms were inexorably drawn above his head and tied to the bed frame.

Mairon squirmed a little, testing his restraints: they held fast, immobilising him rather effectively. He felt the bed dip as Melkor knelt beside him. A soft length of fabric was drawn over his eyes and secured with a knot at the back of his head, blindfolding him.

He whined, feeling a little more helpless than what he was entirely comfortable with. He tugged at his restraints again, a little more vigorously, but they did not give an inch. His heartbeat seemed to have lodged itself in his throat as he lay there waiting for whatever pain or pleasure Melkor had contrived, his frustration giving way to dark anticipation.

But as long minutes passed and Melkor did not touch him again, he started to feel horribly exposed and vulnerable. He was about to twist around as best he could, to ask Melkor what on earth he was doing, when a riding crop smacked across his arse in a bright sear of pain. A sharp intake of air hissed through his teeth as he tensed, involuntarily trying to wriggle away. It had been a hard blow; he could feel his skin throbbing in its aftermath.

It seemed Melkor had decided to do away with any sort of build-up. The whip cut into him again, cruelly angled so it struck the skin of his innermost thigh; and then another blow fell in quick succession, leaving a matching welt on his other thigh. Even though he trembled with the effort of it, he forced himself to keep still, perversely savouring the pain, the sheer _physicality_ of it. It plucked him from his thoughts and planted him firmly in his body. He could not think; he could only _be_.

Melkor wordlessly continued, and Mairon eventually lost count of the blows. It felt like skin and sinew had been peeled away from his nerves, which were left excruciatingly raw and exposed. He could no longer keep still. His screams had become involuntary, hoarse cries scraping out of his throat with each impact of the riding crop over sore, inflamed skin. A particularly savage strike of the whip to the tender skin between his arse and thigh knocked the breath out of his lungs so viciously that he couldn’t even scream. He yanked on the ropes holding him in place, whining desperately when he felt Melkor moving behind him.

But Melkor merely laid a gentle hand on his lower back.

He flinched violently at the touch.

“Shh…” Melkor murmured, starting to rub soothing circles into his skin. Little by little, Mairon calmed down: his breathing evened out, his heartbeat returned to normal. The gentleness felt strange after the violence of the whip.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Melkor said. It wasn’t a question, but Melkor didn’t move away, continuing to hover above him. Mairon sensed he wanted a response. He nodded.

Melkor put the riding crop away, but he made no move to untie Mairon. Instead, he reached between Mairon’s spread legs, finding him hard and dripping. Mairon cursed, and behind the blindfold his eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the pleasure of Melkor’s touch. He didn’t need his sight to know that Melkor was smirking, but right now he didn’t care. He tilted his hips back to give Melkor better access; but Melkor was already moving away.

Mairon slumped back into the bed. He let out a disgruntled groan, frustration starting to simmer within him again. But Melkor wasn’t in the mood to tease him anymore. He returned quickly, fingers now slicked in oil. He spread Mairon open with one hand, and Mairon flinched and tried to wriggle away as Melkor’s palm came into contact with the raw, hurting flesh of his arse. Eru, he wondered how he would even _sit_ , he’d have to only work in the forge for a few days and meetings were _entirely_ out of the question—but his thoughts were abruptly curtailed by Melkor twisting two fingers inside him.

The stretch was a little too sudden, but Mairon let out a loud moan, enjoying the burn of it. Melkor pushed his fingers deeper, curling them just so. The sensation was _glorious_ , and Mairon wantonly arched his back into it as Melkor started to work his fingers into him. But despite the pleasure, Mairon found himself squirming impatiently in his restraints, pushing himself back against Melkor’s fingers in a silent plea for more.

Melkor huffed out an amused breath at his obvious impatience, but didn’t comment on it. He simply withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his cock in one forceful thrust, and Mairon could do little more than gasp and let it happen. Melkor allowed him a few short moments to adjust to the stretch. And then he began to move, building up to a steady rhythm, fucking him hard and fast. Pain flared anew over Mairon’s arse as Melkor’s hips pressed into his bruised flesh, but the pain only bled into his pleasure, magnifying it into something wild and exquisite. Mairon pressed his face into the covers, trying to muffle the loud, breathy moans falling from his lips; it hardly worked at all.

Melkor’s thrusts were making his cock rub against the bedsheets, a vague, maddening stimulation that would not, could not be enough to push him over the edge. He longed to touch himself, or for Melkor to touch him; but his hands were still tied above his head and Melkor seemed too preoccupied with grasping his hips.

“Please,” he heard himself saying, far beyond a sense of shame.

Wordlessly Melkor indulged him, reaching for his cock as he continued to slam into him, and Mairon cried out with the sheer delight of it as Melkor started to stroke him firmly. He tilted his hips to meet Melkor’s thrusts; the angle changed subtly, Melkor’s length pressing even deeper inside of him, and the breathtaking sense of fullness left him shuddering helplessly. With a final pass of Melkor’s fingers over the swollen flesh of his tip he came, wave upon wave of consuming pleasure crashing through him as Melkor continued to fuck him.

He didn’t quite know when his orgasm ended. He was only aware of lying there, spent, trembling; his mind was quiet. He heard Melkor’s breaths quickening, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. At some point—it couldn’t have been long, but he couldn’t truly tell—he felt Melkor coming too, felt him gripping his hips and burying himself to the hilt inside of him. And then they were both still.

Melkor remained inside him for a little while longer, savouring his own afterglow, until Mairon made a noise of discomfort. He was getting cold.

Melkor pulled out. He deftly untied the rope around Mairon’s ankles, and then also undid the bonds around his wrists. With some effort Mairon pushed himself to his knees. He ached all over, though he felt lighter of heart. Melkor carefully pulled off his blindfold, and Mairon was left blinking in the sudden light. His eyes adjusted quickly, but he continued to kneel there, not quite sure what to do with himself.

But then Melkor was pulling the covers aside, making room for him in the bed, and his uncertainty dissipated. He joined Melkor beneath the covers, quite happily letting his master pull him into his chest. Melkor let out a contented hum. He cupped Mairon’s cheek, gently tracing the line of his cheekbone with his thumb. Mairon closed his eyes, simply enjoying the placid intimacy between them. A surge of affection took hold of him, lovely and strange, and he slowly roused himself just enough to plant a small kiss on Melkor’s lips.

“Will you tell me what was bothering you?” Melkor asked once their kiss had ended.

Mairon sighed. He pressed himself closer, nestling into Melkor’s chest. It seemed to him that it had all happened a long time ago.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said truthfully.

“As long as you’re sure.”

Mairon nodded.

Melkor pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Get some sleep, little one.”


End file.
